The Alternative

Rialla knew her family would miss her, but in all reality, they had lost her already. She hoped and prayed the old witch had told her the truth. Her mind was made up; one way or another this would be the last day she spent in this hell.

She had given up all of her dreams to secure her family’s future. Her father cried the day she left; she had never seen him do that before. The pain in her heart almost stopped her feet that day, but the promise of Lord Mandarallen’s agreement kept her resolve from crumbling.

Like her entire family, Rialla was born into servitude. Now, by agreeing to become one of Mandarallen’s concubines, she secured freedom for her family, and enough land for them to support themselves as free folk, even though she would no longer be with them to enjoy it.

Sometimes you have to lose everything, to gain what matters most.

She had thought she could do it—move to a fancy room in the Lord’s manor, dress in the softest silk, and eat only the finest food. That was, until the first night she had been forced to endure his twisted passions. The humiliation of the things he had made her do . . . she seriously contemplated jumping from the parapet of the tower she now slept in, despite the threat of eternal damnation that came with suicide.

Yesterday, as she wandered depressed through the cold, dim halls of the manor, Rialla met the witch. The pity the old woman showed her was either a blessing or a curse. Soon, she would know for sure.

“Perhaps there is yet another way out,” the witch told her, in a voice as rough as sandpaper. “If you are willing to give up everything you have left, including any chance to ever see your family again.”

For someone ready to die, just to escape, that was an easy choice.

As the sky darkened, she made her way into the loft of the horse barn, where she found a huge pile of feathers, just as the witch said she would. She breathed deeply, said a silent farewell to the world, sat down, and opened the bag.

***

In a shaft of silver moonlight, Rialla lay back in the downy softness and let the small vial roll from her numb fingers. The incantation had gone well, and the stone had turned blue in her hand, as the old woman had said it would. She hoped the end—and the beginning—would be painless. This too was a promise from the witch, but one that had been said with much less conviction.

The last thing Rialla saw as her eyes fluttered shut, was the large tawny owl which swooped in and landed next to her head. She blinked twice and as her eyes closed, her shallow breathing slowed to a stop, and her body released her.

For what seemed like hours she fought the crushing panic she felt. Her fear threatened to drag her away into darkness, yet bit by bit she clawed her way up, toward the flattened face of the bird; it was so close, yet so far away. With a final push, she used the last of her strength to send herself hurtling toward that face, directly at the sharp beak and huge eyes of the predator.

The universe echoed a resounding silent scream and her mind snapped over that of the owl, twisting into the form it now must occupy inside the creature.

She blinked its [her] large eyes, intrigued by the difference in the color spectrum it [she] could see. The animal brain was still strong, even though it was under her will.

She [it] was hungry.

Looking down at the cooling corpse by her feet, she let the instinct to feed take control. The only thing sweeter than the relief her new body felt at being fed, was the taste of the human blood dripping from the chunks of meat as she devoured them.